


Light

by DetectiveRoboRyan



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: And Emmeryn doesn't notice at all, Basically Aversa hates herself too much to pursue a relationship, Character Study, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, I like Aversa and want her to be happy, I wrote this in like an hour, Textile Metaphors, Tiny Tiny Ficlet, Unrequited Love, i guess in a way?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 12:12:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6956014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveRoboRyan/pseuds/DetectiveRoboRyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kind of a short little worldbuilding/character thing with Aversa and, also, I'm emmversa trash, so there's that</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light

**Author's Note:**

> i'm in english class and supposed to be working on my project but also i felt the need to lesbians so this happened anyway enjoy

Emmeryn is soft and good and she reminds Aversa, now, of the soft printed cottons that make the infirmary curtains. Light dances through her fine hair exactly the way it does through the fabric, and though Aversa has always thought it somewhat silly that a place where such blood and death is the norm will have such pretty curtains, she supposes she could say the same for the healers. They're always kind people, good people— fair-skinned and pale-eyed and dressed in Ylissean blues and greens. Not that Plegia's healers are not good people, but the way they customarily heal is very different. Less of a focus on comfort and more of a focus on convenience. More people making poultices and medicines than weilding staves. It's a cultural thing, Aversa supposes. The fabrics match the people, because where Ylisseans are the soft cotton curtains, Plegians are the heavy silk they weave on looms as big as a stable.  
  
She is soft and good, and even while her hands and smock are stained with soldiers' blood, her slender fingers still glow with healing light and her face is still kind. She does not allow herself thought for the sheer amount of wounded there are on any given day in this strange militia Aversa has found herself. She heals, she smiles, she is a beacon of calm in a world gone mad.  
  
Aversa has broken her wrist. It is summertime. A light summer, Aversa remembers somebody important saying— a sister, perhaps, or an aunt. She cannot recall a face. (She is used to this, but the emptiness where a memory should be is disconcerting.) It's a light summer because the day feels like soft flower petals and sunshine past clouds high in the sky; golden sunlight and bright laughter and fireflies after dark. Plegia had fireflies, at least the north did. Not so much the southern deserts, but nearer Ferox. That is what Aversa remembers, though the rest of the memory blinks away before she can catch it.  
  
She remembers breaking her wrist once before, but she cannot remember when. She knows she has before, that time she tripped down the library stairs carrying a crate of books and tried to catch herself by holding her arms out. Her wrist must be very good at mending itself by now.  
  
"How?" Emmeryn asks, as she gently sets the bone. It scrapes and clicks from inside her wrist, and though Aversa has been given a tonic to numb the pain and has felt worse before (her theology tutor; for a dowager in her sixties, she had quite the arm and seemed fond of using a switch on Aversa's wrists when she forgot her verses— not to mention the ins and outs of life as a Plegian army general and advisor to the king), she winces.  
  
Aversa doesn't realize Emmeryn has spoken until she repeats herself. Her voice is soft, halting— Aversa remembers it was once strong but no less kind, the sort of voice that could sing lullabies as well as it could give commands. Now it's almost as if she's forgotten how to speak, and is re-learning in steps.  
  
"A careless mistake, training," Aversa says with practice nonchalance. "I'll be sure not to do it again. I'm sure you have many others to get to."  
  
"Yes," Emmeryn nods. "But… also. I don't want… friends getting hurt."  
  
Aversa is taken aback. "Friends?"  
  
And Emmeryn pauses, and smiles. She has such a gentle smile, Aversa feels wretched beneath its loving gaze. Her forehead is bare where the blasted Brand that became a symbol of opression to Plegia once was, and it makes Aversa wonder if it's better for everyone that way. It is a heavy Brand to bear, she's certain, much like any. She still wonders why Validar tried so hard to attain one; why he put so much weight on it when it appeared on the tiny hands of his twin children. (She also wonders why anybody would voluntarily lie with Validar of all people— she could respect a desire for power and security, and it wasn't like she was one to talk given that she'd done exactly the same to Gangrel, but one had to draw the line somewhere. At least Gangrel was less than twice her age and had a moral compass and a decent brain for conversation.)  
  
"Friends," Emmeryn says. "We are… friends? I do hope so."  
  
It feels like a trap, before Aversa remembers Emmeryn was probably too good for such things even with her mind intact— it's almost cruel to think she has ulterior motives now. So Aversa nods, and Emmeryn splints her wrist with a glimmer of excitement in her pale blue eyes, the same shade of the light-summer sky.

  
 "Alright," Aversa decides. "We are friends." And nothing more.

**Author's Note:**

> so i'm not sure how familiar the concepts of "light summer" and "dark summer" are to y'all but for me they're very distinct things, as well as the "light femme, dark femme" trope i think fits well for this particular ship. and i might like explore the "dark" half later but for now nah


End file.
